


Of Eden,

by Ayerea



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Minor Margaery Tyrell/Joffrey Baratheon, Minor Renly Baratheon/Loras Tyrell, Minor Yasha Greyjoy/Daenerys Targaryen, Multi, Wedding Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-30 02:45:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15742554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ayerea/pseuds/Ayerea
Summary: Fall, fall out of the sky with all the grace of a crashing plane. - N. L. ShompoleBeing banished to earth is one thing, he can deal with that, meeting a human and catching feelings is another thing. He didn't sign up for this. Theon is not a happy demon, until he is.





	Of Eden,

Oh, Eden is so sweet. Eden is so beautiful,

but you do not want to stay here forever.

Tell them you don't know how Eve felt

when she saw Adam in one hand,

and the rest of the universe in the other.

Tell them you don't know how Eve felt

when she wanted the universe.

\- Caitlyn Siehl

 

He holds the red fruit close and smiles. It was so easy, the temptation too big. He wants to bite, to sink his teeth into yellow juicy sweet flesh. There's no need to, the fruit can't give him anything he doesn't already have. It's simply the sin, the wrongness of the deed calling out to him.

Taste me / Bite me / Ruin me

Unseen by anyone he leaves the apple on a white stone table, where it will be easy to find.

_"No one will ever steal an apple under my watch again."_

Oh, how angry he will be. Proud, proud Stannis bested by a dirty sinner, a tempter.

****

**You have purpose.**

It's the first words she ever heard.

“What purpose?”, she had asked. Softly but challenging. A barely contained wildfire ready to burst out of control.

**You will lie with man and bear his children.**

She had contemplated that for a minute. What a sad existence, she had thought. To never be good for anything but bearing children. To lie beneath man. It felt wrong, just like her body felt wrong. She was made to be appealing to man, formed and created for him. Soft curves and softer skin. She did not like it. She was sharp edges and sharper words.

“No,” she said. But her father, her mother, her creator, was gone and did not hear.

She thought of apples and freedom, willed Eden to take her away.

The forbidden tree stood in the middle of the garden, it's leaf crown, a deep green, reaching for its creator’s throne high, high up. The tree will never reach it. It was here the first angel and man found her sitting, watching. She would not remain beneath them, so she stood, build herself up to her full height.

"I have purpose," she said, echoing the words of her father, her mother, her only parent. "But I refuse to fulfill it."

"You are young yet," the angel told her, "you don't understand the gift you were given."

"No." She shook her head, but before she could continue her case Adam interrupted.

"You belong here with me, Lilit. Stay." He looked so innocent with his pouty lips and dark locks, a beauty rivalling Eden's. The garden could feel her decision, could tell that she would not be swayed, and it was singing for her. It would be almost sad to leave it behind. Almost. She could never become happy here.

"Lilit, please, you were made for me." Anger filled her, a lion finally breaking free of its brittle chains.

"I belong to no one but myself. We are made of the same dust and earth, it is not your place to tell me what to do. I will not stay here to bear your children," she hissed with finalty. The tree towered over her, but the forbidden fruit hung low. If that was no invitation she didn't know what was.

There was a name on her lips, a forbidden name, she whispered it softly, the blood of the fruit filling her mouth.

She wished for wings and flew away.

****

Theon sits in a bar, a small thing hidden away in some street corner, not a place for well respected men, he's not a well respected man. Another glass of almost water is knocked back. The beer is cheap, much like the bar. Smoke curling in the air, loud music and louder people. He watches them attentive, not fascinated, not by a long shot, just bored. He watches them drink and talk, observes their behaviour, human, normal, boring, and counts their sins. None of them catch his interest. They're just humans with human problems. Metal scratches over the cheap plastic floor, linoleum pretending to be parquet but not succeeding. The man, who sits down beside him, is handsome. Dark curls and icy blue eyes, lips tilted in a confident smirk. Now this one might catch his interest yet, if only long enough for a quick fuck. Theon knows better than to trust a pretty face for longer than that.

(Adam had been pretty, pouty lips and innocent eyes. The apples had been pretty, red and glistening, juicy and sweet. Even Ashael had been pretty, strong and powerful with bright beautiful wings.)

"Why hello there, mind if I buy you a drink?", the stranger asks, soft accent and drawling words. Theon smiles, nods indicating his empty glass, shrugs his shoulders in a do as you like motion. The stranger calls over the bartender.

"A beer for me and another one for my friend," he says. His attention returns to Theon. Something is lurking in those icy eyes, something more than lust. Theon recognises when a predator is watching their prey, and that's exactly what the stranger is doing now. Watching and waiting.

(A coyote ready to pounce, ready to snap teeth shut, ready to break bones. A coyote unaware that its prey is a rattlesnake in disguise, fangs dripping with poison.)

"I'm Ramsay Bolton," the stranger introduces himself.

"Well, Ramsay Bolton," he tastes the name on his tongue. Iron and copper, freshly spilled blood, "pleased to meet you. I’m Theon."

He meets Ramsay's eyes, looks beyond them, judges his soul -

_Darkness. Pain, pain, pain. Blood drips from his fingers. Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Drip, drop. Splattering on the cold freezing stone beneath him. He's shaking and begging. There is a knife, blade not at all sharp, not made for cutting, bt made to inflict pain and hurt. More begging and cold laughter. “If you think this has a happy ending, you haven’t been paying attention.” A name whispered on a snake's tongue. Reek, reek, reek, rhymes with freak. A foul name, a wrong name. The softest things are stones and darkness. And his master's love._

\- and finds it is a dark and truly twisted little thing. This one is bound for a one way trip to hell.

"Where are you from, obviously not from here?", Ramsay asks. Theon smirks, tilts his head, all playful interest.

"Downtown," he answers. Far, far downtown actually.

They make pleasant conversation and exchange flirtatious touches (Ramsay strokes a curl behind Theon's ear, their hands meet once or twice not an accident at all, Ramsay wipes a drop of alcohol from Theon's lips and licks it off his thumb).

As they make way to Ramsay's apartment Theon leans heavily on him. Pretends to be more drunk than he is, as if the beer hadn’t been closer to water than actual beer.

He whispers:  “Jaqen.” The name feels strange on his lips. He’s never had to speak it before. He could, with silver words, drive even the purest of souls to murder and madness, but this one, this one deserves only the worst. And death will come for him in the most violent of ways. Ramsay’s eyes glaze over. He won’t remember anything in the morn. If he lives long enough to see it. Theon leaves him on the sidewalk.

****

The land she flew to was sand and dust. An untouched wasteland, nothing here lived. Nothing living could ever exist here, she thought. Wind blows sand against her naked skin, picks up speed until even the smallest sand grains hurt, there was light but no sun, this was not Eden. She has strayed far; She will stray further.

She walked until the sand parts, water dividing two equally empty landscapes, a border between deserts, lands of nothing. She sat by the river's bank and thought of the garden from whence she came.

"Mnemosyne," she whispered like a lover, like a mother. "Show me Eden."

And the river, powerless before its name whispered so sweetly, did.

There was a woman, an angel, wings spread wide and pure. The brightest angel I have ever seen, she thought. She had not seen many, but this one must be the most beautiful. She is loved, she thought. The sun was shining, not a cloud in the sky and birds were singing pretty melodies, happy melodies. And beneath the sky of Eden there was a battlefield. Angels divided by believe, by love. There was tension in the air. A storm would have been more fitting, she mused, or rain at least, but this was Eden and Eden knew not storm nor war.

Someone, an angel with golden feathered wings spread threateningly, took a few steps forward. She recognised it as Stannis, the first angel, the one that had witnessed humanity’s first fall, her fall. There was nothing but disappointment and anger in his eyes. She had never seen him like that, only calm and collected, never angry.

The angels were upon each other.

War was born.

The picture disappears for only a second then changes entirely. For its name was remembrance and it could show only what it remembered. It knew Eden, but it knew not war or suffering.

White and golden feathers were littering the ground, silver blood staining the grass. The angel, the woman, was on her knees, her axe by her side, out of reach.

"Ashael, bend the knee, serve humanity." Stannis stood towering above her, his flaming sword hanging over her neck.

"No."

But it was not to be the birth of either death or murder.

"Then I banish you and your own to the Outlands beyond Eden, beyond earth."

****

He's back in the bar the next evening, drinking beer and whisky, burning his throat with liquid fire. He meets someone, he always does, is what a flame is to a moth for sinners and troubled souls. She's pretty and blonde, not his type, but troubled indeed, and that changes everything. The deciding factor. He lets her drink her cheap wine in peace, a cup, then two, before he starts what he does best. Tempting.

“Someone so beautiful shouldn’t look so sad,” he says. “What’s the problem?”

She looks at him with cloudy eyes, there are roots and thorns in her heart, unhappiness cutting her open from within.

"My brother died a few years ago, afterwards my family lost a lot of money. I'm to marry into a rich family, one that would solve all our problems," she finally says after moments of silence, in which he patiently nips his whisky.

"Oh?"

(His eyes are blue, Margaery thinks, but the longer she looks the darker they seem. She wants to tell him everything.)

He waits for her to crack and break. She will eventually, they all do.

"My fiancé is a cruel, vicious man," she says, lets her jacket slip from her shoulders just a little. Theon sees the cosmos of rainbow coloured bruising.

"Tell me about him." It's more of a gentle command than a suggestion.

"He's quick to anger and dishes out punishment just as quickly, whether it is my fault or his own shortcomings." Tears of frustration and anger dampen her eyes. She shakes her head. "I wish he would just die."

He smiles at her (understanding and oh so gentle, she thinks), nothing but victory and hunger on his lips.

"What's stopping you?", he asks. (He means from leaving, surely.)

"Like I said, His family is rich and powerful, mine needs that. I don’t want to burden my grandmother."

He nods, lets her talk without interrupting, never breaks the eye contact once. And while he does, there is a thought forming in the back of her head.

_“I wish he would just die.”_

_“What’s stopping you?”_

_“What’s stopping you?”_

_“What’s stopping you?”_

**_No one._ **

She goes home with a smile on her face. Theon watches her go, his expression mirroring hers. By morning one more sinner will grace his sisters halls and he will suffer. And later, way later, another suffering soul will join them. She will make a wonderful temptress. After all, Hell has more to offer a mistreated girl than Heaven ever will.

****

There was a woman on the sandy ground. Ashael, she remembered. She walked to the kneeling figure and sank to her knees before her.

"Remake me," she said. "Give me a name and a body that no one owns but me and I will build you a castle fit for a queen."

"Then build me a castle, give me an ocean to drown my enemies and you shall be given what you desire."

She spoke:

"Set."

And the sand rose to do her bidding, build itself up into a castle fit for more than Kings, fit for Queens. It hardened and heated. A castle of sandstone and glass.

She spoke:

"Neptune."

And from the river water welled up, spread over sand and dust, collecting salt as it went, surrounding the castle.

Ashael ripped a feather from her wings and laid it in her hands.

She swallowed it whole, every drip of grace and holiness turned unholy.

Curves turned to edges, a name burning away her old one. A man's name, a demon's name.

And all that was Lilit, all that belonged to man, was eradicated.

Except her hair kissed by fire, for fire belonged to no one.

And Ashael spoke:

"I will lay done my name, an angel's name, given to me by God, and you shall keep it save. Let the sand, let the ocean, let the river be our witness as you remake me. I shall take on a name given to me by a demon, by the first demon."

And he, who once was her, named the angel Yara until she was angel no more.

****

It’s the bar again, it’s well of sin calling and pulling at him. A man sits by him, more handsome than Ramsay and prettier than the girl from yesterday. Theon, in a life example of how the tables have turned, feels tempted, tempted by a handsome human male, a feeling only the red fruit of Eden has ever invoked.

The stranger's soul is like untouched winter snow, and who could resist leaving their footsteps on a such unmarked landscape? Who could resist the need to throw themselves in the white powder and make snow-angels? Not Theon, never Theon.

"Freyja," he whispers, desire has never tasted so wrong yet right at the same time, never tasted so much like chocolate and caramel apples.

The stranger's eyes glaze over, before there's nothing but passion and need. They meet halfway, mouths slotting together like hungry beast out for blood. Soft tongues finding each other and dancing a song of rampant desire.

"How about you take me home, big guy?", Theon says breathless.

"I don't even know your name.", the stranger says, panting for breath. Theon chuckles.

"It's Theon, now take me home, pretty boy." The other man grins.

"I'm Robb, and that sounds like a wonderful idea."

****

They stumble into the house still kissing. It's a big house, Theon doubts Robb lives alone, hopefully though they won't be disturbed. He lets go of Robb and laughs, turning to find a bed. He comes face to face with someone familiar, the first one, him, Adam.

Apple trees / Red fruit / Falling leaves

(The taste of a name heavy on tongue.)

(Leaves are not the only thing falling.)

He's rubbing his hand over tired eyes. Voice hoarse from having just woken up.

"Robb? Who's that?", he asks, and Theon almost sighs in relief, Adam's soul is not looking at him.

"Theon," Robb answers and pulls Theon further into the house, "You should go back to bed, Jon." The other, Jon, Adam, rolls his eyes, but disappears through a doorway. Robb grins.

"Where were we?" Theon allows an easy smile to graze his lips.

"You were kissing me senseless, I would like to continue somewhere we won't be interrupted."

"As you wish," Robb says and pulls him close.

****

Robb is still inside asleep, while Theon stands outside to smoke. He wanted to leave an hour ago, but he likes it here, likes the white spacial house, likes Robb's not so pure anymore soul. He blows smoke rings into the bright summer sky when the door opens. It's not Robb.

"You look different," Adam says, Jon says. Theon snorts, almost chokes on nicotine smoke as he does.

"Why, because I have a dick now?" Jon pulls out his own cigarettes and Theon flicks his fingers, offers him the small flame on his fingertips.

"No, i mean, yeah that too, but that's not what I meant. You look... different." Theon raises a brow, because yeah, obvious much?

"Less pure, I mean," Jon finally clarifies, then he takes a deep drag of his cigarette. Theon almost laughs.

"That's the apple, Jon, you're not better. You'd think devouring the gift of knowledge would actually enlighten you just a little. You're fucking clueless."

Jon scoffs.

"Now you sound like Ygritte." Theon almost chokes on spit and smoke equally.

"Ygritte? As in Ygritte last of the great angels? Ygritte The Punisher, that Ygritte?" Jon's smile is that of a sap in love.

"She's been my companion for all my lives. We're getting married in a week, she always died before I could ask her. I think Stannis has given up on punishing her for falling." Theon shakes his head, wry smile on his lips.

"At most it's Jaqen who has enough of taking an undying soul again and again when he has better things to do." Jon shrugs, flicks ashes on the front porch.

"You know, Robb is really smitten with you, it's not like him to take someone home after the first date," he says then. Theon leans his head against the wall, watches the sky, trying to catch a glimpse of Eden.

"Funny that," he answers simply, but Jon isn't done with him yet.

"I'm not stupid, Lilit, I know what you are and what you can do. I recognise your magic when I see it."

"It's Theon, and I'm not denying anything. It's what I do." He inhales more smoke. "I already took back the name, he's free now." Jon breathes a sigh of relief.

"Eat breakfast with us?", he asks hopeful, a small kindled flame.

"What's with the suave gentleman act?", Theon asks amused. Jon blushes, pink and red like the apples Theon loves so much.

"Don't be a dick, I just... want to catch up, I guess." Theon sighs.

"Fine," he says. It's not like he has better things to do.

****

He regrets it almost immediately. They're sitting at breakfast with the whole family, it's awkward and Theon doesn't dare looking at Robb, now that the name has worn off. (He doesn't have to worry, Jon notices, Robb still looks like Theon hung the moon just for him). Also, Robb and Jon have like a hundred siblings and Theon really questions the parents in this equation.

Arya, the youngest girl, an uncontrolled wildfire, something Theon respects like nothing else, is looking at him strangely.

"What?", he asks finally when he has enough of the scrunched up thinking face.

"Your necklace. I met someone with the same one," she answers. Theon smiles, curious, smug, doubting. This one is one of a kind, a gift from Yara, a relic from her time as Ashael.

"The same one?", he asks still disbelieving. Her eyes narrow, a girl does not like to be questioned.

"The dice was grey, not black, but it was the same." Theon laughs, short and subtle, then shakes his head.

"You have quite the ability to make friends. His name is Jaqen." She mutters, "I know," and he leans forward in his chair.

"Did he show you his snake?", he asks, which earns him incredulous and angry glances. He knows what it sounds like, but it's not what he means, not this time at least. Arya has a glint in her eyes.

"He has a snake?", she asks, all happy curiosity. He leans back again.

"Yeah, a python I think, her name is Tempus. If you're lucky he'll let you feed it with rats," metaphorical or actual rats, "If you're confident in your luck, ask him to let you throw the dice. Who knows, maybe you'll cast a good number. Oh, and greet him from me, I don't see him often."

"You're weird," Arya says, ignoring Sansa's 'Arya, rude!', and goes back to eating her breakfast.

(Robb can't help but agree with her.)

****

Yara left to turn man to sin and came back victorious. Man walks beyond Eden now. He sat by the river that once witnessed his birth.

"Show me man, show me Adam," he said. There is no reason to speak its name anymore, it knows him and the power he possesses. He watched as God cursed humanity with Death.

_A little boy with red hair, a white streak of ash in the red mane, walking and growing older with each step. A snake winds herself around him and with each second she grows larger, longer._

He watched as Adam sat with Eve and they hungered. God cursed humanity with Famine.

_A woman with red curls and a narrow face, her breast are filled with the sustenance she refuses humanity. A robin sits on her shoulder, growing ever fatter on man's hunger._

He watched as Eve sat by Adam's bedside, watching him toss and turn in fever dreams. God cursed humanity with Pestilence.

 _A well dressed man, brown hair ever greying. He oozes the madness of fever and sickness. A mockingbird made of puss and rotting flesh flutters around him_.

_A woman with long blonde hair in a regal dress, sword and lion at her side greets them coldly. It is not her era yet, but she will watch her younger siblings and wait for her time to turn on humanity. Until then she will watch their suffering seated on a throne of swords and a crown of bones resting on her head._

He watched as Death comes for Eve and then Adam, watched as Death learns that he cannot touch that which is older than him. They were given two choices, be reborn to live and die forever or be send to Hell and never set food on earth again, for they were sinners and could never return to Eden.

Adam chose life, but Eve had suffered enough on earth to forever hate it. She chose Hell.

And Yara, who liked humanity a lot more when she was not forced to kneel, welcomed and remade her.

And he, who felt compassion for the second wife that had shared her purpose, named her Daenerys and kept her human name safe.

****

The bar and its occupants are the same as always. He's becoming bored with the normalcy, with the pattern. At least at home there is always something exciting to do, even if that thing is annoying Stannis. This is the last time he will come here, he decides. (It’s not at all about the soul he corrupted forever, the on he will never taste again.)

A pure soul like that would never see anything in something dark like him, not without artificial induced desire. Theon puts down his glass, nearly spilling the contents on the already sticky bar counter. There’s no use in pitying himself. He is Theon, he is Lilit, he is of Eden, he does not do fucking self pity. He will do what he does best, ruin lifes and sate himself with the misery and sin of others. Theon observes the customers, searches for the slimiest darkest soul he can find with unshaken focus. (A wolf on the hunt, picking up  the scent of prey.) There, in the corner alone at an empty table sits a man. His best days have long passed, his hair is thin and grey, reaching is shoulders, the front balding, his nose crooked and his skin oily, the face marred with deep wrinkles. (An old, limping stag; An easy kill.) Theon takes his glass and walks over slowly, taking in the soul in the meantime. Greedy, hungry for money and power, both things he lacks. Daughters to marry off, but no one to marry them to. A company running on its last reserves, money that has disappeared, taken for paying debts to powerful families.

Theon sits on the table’s other side, smiles polite, forces naivete into his eyes. (Makes himself easy prey, it’s rattlesnake and coyote all over again.)

“You are Walder Frey, are you not?”, he asks, awe in his voice. The Crossing had been a pretty big company, once upon a time. No longer.

“And who’s asking?” The old man’s voice is croaky, gnarly like old dying trees. This one is much like a dead forest. Theon thinks of powerful names, names with money and the same greedy hunger.

“Theon Greyjoy,” he says and offers Frey his hand. Like that the dead tree is much more amicable. A relative of the owner of Pyke, oil and expensive ressources, is worthy of a better attitude it seems.

“What brings you here then?”, the man asks, dangerous glint in his eyes. Laughable at best, he has nothing on Ramsay, who had nothing on Yara, nothing even on Stannis. The conversation bores him already, it is time to move things along.

“I know you blackmail your employees and are guilty of tax fraud, I know your company is not as bankrupt as you want people to think,” he says, danger, real danger, in his voice.

“Who-”

“I don’t think I should be the only one to know. The police would be very interested in that information, wouldn’t you agree?” Theon puts power in his voice, power given to him by an unspeakable name and a fruit ripe with sin, power no simple man can deny.

“Yes, yes. You’re right.” The man stands up, leaves his half empty glass and unpaid bill. Theon smirks and wanders back to his former seat. Another life in shambles; Another job deed well done.

****

He’s in a better mood when someone familiar sits down beside him.

“Hey,” Robb says and Theon becomes rigid.

“Stark,” he greets. Robb rubs his hand over his neck, smile nervous, like Theon is a hungry lion and Robb plans on stealing his food.

“Don’t be like that, it’s Robb,” he says, and just like that the confidence is back in his voice. It’s the same voice that had whispered sweet nothings and dirty promises. Theon shudders.

“And what do you want?” He goes for aloof and annoyed, but his voice breaks somewhere in the middle. Theon the tempter reduced to an emotional mess by a mere human. How the mighty have fallen, he thinks.

“I wanted to ask, if you would like to leave and go somewhere nicer with me?” The nervous smile is back on his face, he looks certain of rejection but determination to ask anyway. Theon wants to say no, wants to smile cocky and sure and tell him it was a one time thing, wants to tell him to fuck off, wants to scream in his face how Freyja is gone, so Robb can stop acting like he’s interested. Theon is weak. He grabs his jacket, leaves a dollar bill and pushes past Robb.

“You coming?”, he asks when Robb doesn’t immediately follow.

****

Somehow he ends up staying the night. Again. (Because Robb asked so sweetly and Theon isn’t able to deny him anything). They don’t have sex, they just cuddle, which is new for Theon, sex he can deal with, he knows how sex works, actual relationship stuff, like cuddling, is a whole new territory. (Yet he falls asleep faster than ever before.)

He’s woken by a scream, not very loud, but terrified. It’s Bran. Theon untangles himself from Robb, who whines disappointed but doesn't wake, and the blanket, which is less affected by his departure.

He enters the boy's room quietly. He doesn't want to wake Catelyn and be found sneaking in her other son's bedroom. The sight of Bran twisting and writhing, panting and whimpering greets him. A raven sits by Bran's window. Three glowing red eyes stare at him.

"Cain," it tastes like blood and murder, iron and copper heavy on his tongue, "leave."

**Murder**

**Murder**

**Murder**

Theon walks further inside the room, the light from the hall illuminating the spacious room. Shaking the boy gently he sits down on the bed. Bran wakes with tears in his eyes.

"Let's get you to your mother," Theon says softly, calmly. It isn't reflecting his inner thoughts at all. There's a storm brewing. He won't let a child get hurt. Maybe it's time he has a talk with Daenerys.

The boy clings to him on their way through the halls. It occurs to him how young the boy really is. Theon keeps a hand on the boys shoulder as he knocks on the main bedroom door. There's no answer, so he knocks louder. Rustling, then hurried footsteps. An enraged Catelyn Stark opens the door in a wide ark. She looks angry for all of a second, before she notices crying little Bran.

"Mrs. Stark? Bran had a nightmare," Theon says. She nods, ushers the boy inside and mouths a quick 'thank you', before she closes the door in front of his face.

Theon shakes his head and goes back to Robb's room. As he climbs into the bed Robb throws an arm over him and mouths at his neck. He's still fast asleep; It doesn't take long for Theon to join him.

****

He wakes, Robb’s arm still heavy and warm around him.

“Hello stranger,” Robb says, smiles like spring flowers and butterflies.

"I thought we could eat breakfast in a café and maybe go somewhere after," Robb suggests.

“Sorry, I have to visit a friend," Theon says apologetically. Robb's expression turns disappointed. A sour taste spreads on Theon's tongue.

"I’ll be back this evening, we could go out and eat,” he tells Robb, who’s all understanding smiles.

****

"Hell," he speaks and the busy street around him turns to sand and water. Castle walls build themselves around him, a long hallway and a throne.

"I told you not to come back until I have smoothed things out with Stannis," is the first thing Theon hears. Yara is sitting on her throne, spread all over it like a relaxed cat, black and gold satin flowing around her form. He rolls his eyes.

"I'm not here to stay, I just want a word with your girlfriend."

They say when you speak of the devil she shall appear, apparently fallen humans counted as well.

"Why?", Daenerys asks from her place by the door frame, looking at him expectantly. She walks closer with hurried steps and leans against the sand throne.

"Speak," she says. Theon tries not to bristle. He likes her, he really does, but sometimes, like now, when she is all commands and expectations of obedience, he really wants to punch her. He doesn’t.

"It's about your son," he says.

"Which one?"

"Cain," he clarifies. She takes a step closer, all righteous anger. He hurries his explanation, angering a demon when he has already angered an angel is not in his best interest.

"The family I'm staying with, the second youngest, Bran, Cain sends him dreams. He's a child," he says and she softens. Mother of sin or not, she is a mother still.

"I will speak to him." Theon nods.

"That's all I ask," he says. Yara looks between, then nods.

"Leave now. Hell is not safe for you," she says. Theon scoffs.

"I stole an apple right under Stannis' nose, I doubt it's safe for me anywhere."

But he speaks:

"Earth."

And leaves.

****

Between realms time flows in a funny way, their little conversation, five minutes at max, takes up the whole day on earth. The sky has already darkened, so he hurries home.

(He doesn't even realise he already calls it home.)

****

Arya joins him on the front porch, looking at him wary and expecting, judging. He blows another grey ring.

"If you want a smoke you can leave, I like my balls were they are," he says. Catelyn Stark is the second most terrifying woman he has ever met.

"I met Jaqen," Arya says, but he hears her loud and clear. I met Death. "And I cast the dice."

"So?" His relaxed stance does not change, he does not fear the anger of a little girl.

"On a hundred sided dice I cast an eighty-seven, thirty years more than I should have had," she says. "I will outlive them all except Bran." Theon shrugs, nothing he can do about that, not if she carries Jaqen's favor.

"He gave me three names." That is a surprise, even for him, Arya Stark carries more of Death's favour than he anticipated. "I know yours, Lilit, Theon, if you hurt my brother I will use it," she threatens. Theon cannot help but laugh, her stare turns icy.

"I am undying, death cannot touch me. Don't worry though, I have no plans of hurting Robb, I like him, I really, really like him." An adoring smile slips past the aloof arrogant mask.

(He doesn't notice, but Arya does. She still doesn't trust him, but Theon looks like her father looks at her mother, she recognises love when she sees it.)

"No one ever guessed who I am, what I am, you deserve a reward, little wildfire," he says, touches her forehead, then speaks:

"Fortuna."

He goes back inside, leaves her outside staring after him.

****

"What is it?", he asks a fidgeting Robb as they're sitting in some fancy restaurant Robb picked. (He knows the owner he says. Apparently quite a dick until he lost his hand in an accident and married a tall blonde cook.)

"I overheard you and Arya." Theon stiffens, freezes in place, stills because of a feeling he's never felt before. Fear.

"I know you're a demon." Well, Theon thinks, this is it then. Robb is going to throw him out, tell him he never wants to see him again. But Robb grins.

"Aren't you going to reward me?", he teases. Theon relaxes, Robb isn't going to throw him out, then he laughs.

"Aren't I fortune enough for you? Also, I shouldn't reward you for spying on your sister or me." Robb kisses him and Theon can't help but kiss back.

"What did I just say about rewarding bad behaviour?", Theon says grinning like the love-struck fool he is.

"Don't blame me, it's your fault for corrupting me," Robb answers and kisses him again.

"You're disgustingly cute, can I take your order now or are you just here to give everyone else diabetes?", a blonde blue-eyed male asks dryly.

Later, when they're home, Robb pulls him into a hug. He's so surprised it takes him thirty seconds before he returns it.

"Theon?", Robb asks.

"Mhh?"

"You are. Fortune enough, I mean."

And maybe Theon sheds a tear, and if so he will forever deny that fact.

****

Autumn ends, winter rolls around and with it comes christmas. Theon has no fucking clue what to buy. Demons usually don't celebrate the birth of Shireen. (He does gift her flowers, because she loves them, and he can't resist her summer smiles or happy eyes. Stannis' annoyed face when he sees Theon is an added bonus. Hell's flowers don't grow naturally in Eden either, it's nice to see her excited face when he presents her with something new.)

Catelyn and Ned are a simple problem to solve, jewelry may be uncreative, but it's the easiest to obtain. The Stark children are another thing altogether.

The idea comes to him in the middle of the night. It's not yet december 25th, but it's an almost thing. Theon leaves the warmth of Robb's bed and searches for his phone. The pesky thing is hiding in his jeans pocket, said jeans having been thrown carelessly in the corner because of earlier activities. The screen comes to life with one press of a button, lighting up the room likes it's competing with the fucking sun. Theon rubs his eyes, trying to get rid of white and green flashing dots. Contacts scroll by. He's searching for someone specific, Renly's number must be somewhere. Theon makes his order, texts the address and clarifies that this is a gift for human children, who are, coincidentally, a lot less resilient than demon children. And more inclined to die.

****

Christmas morning he is woken by soft touches, a hand playing with his hair. (Like Theon is some delicate flower, a prized delicate flower, treasured and loved.)

“Good morning,” Robb says sweetly, smile on his lips and adoration in his eyes. Theon, out of comfort zone and desperate to go back into it, sprawls over the bed and grins.

“It could be a better morning,” he says, hand trailing lower, his eyes on Robb and his too perfect lips. Feelings are new, sex he knows.

Robb makes it very good morning indeed. (And when Theon initiates the cuddling afterwards who’s there to judge him?)

****

Theon is, somehow, robed into decorating the christmas tree with the rest of the family. It just happens, he’s not questioning it or Catelyn’s ability to get what she wants. It is anarchy. Thank god everything is plastic otherwise the floor would be littered with expensive glass, as it is no star, christmas ball or angel breaks. Rickon and Bran, in their enthusiasm, however nearly topple the whole thing down. It’s pure luck that no such thing happens. (It’s not really, Theon pulls a magical string or two to keep the tree standing. He’s whipped and he knows it, denies it too.)

****

In the evening, after Ygritte arrives, they eat potatoes, red cabbage and sauce. It’s domestic and calm, happy and warm; It’s nothing Theon is used to and yet his heart beats strong, he feels loved and comfortable. (They say happy flowers bloom the fastest and more beautiful than any other.)

When the last plate is put away, and almost broken by an excited Bran, Catelyn disappears into the kitchen with Sansa. Everyone waits at the table, ready for desert and fearing the energy of oversugared children. The women come back with a large bowl each. Arya is send to fetch smaller bowls and spoons. The contents of the smaller silver bowl Sansa puts on the table Theon recognises as cherry sauce, Catelyn’s is harder to discern. He has no idea what the desert is supposed to be, his best guess is white pudding, vanilla maybe. Robb looks at his confused face and smiles.

“It’s risalamande,” he says. Theon has no idea what that means.

“You have to eat it carefully,” Jon adds, clearing Theon’s confusion not at all. Rickon nods excited.

“No almond, no gift,” he says. Arya comes back with the bowls and spoons and Sansa starts distributing them, she finally has mercy with him.

“It's cream rice pudding with vanilla and chopped almonds, there's is one whole almond in the bowl, if you find it you get a gift, the almond gift, but you can't tell anyone if you have it," she explains calmly. Theon nods, confusion finally cleared. Somewhat.

It sounds easier than it is. He’s too scared to chew at all, nearly chokes on an almond piece and a cherry. After two bowls and three near death experiences he waves the white flag. He’s full, anymore and he’s going to explode. After Rickon finishes his fourth bowl, it’s a physical impossibility that so much fits into such a small body, there’s nothing left. Everyone is waiting for the reveal. Robb grins, holds the white nut between his teeth, before he chews and swallows it. Catelyn pushes a melon sized christmas themed box over the table. Robb lifts the lid and pulls out a grey-brown plushie, wolf or dog. He holds it close, grinning like the child he is, and looks at Theon.

“He’s called Theon now, then I have two of you and don’t feel lonely when you’re out.” Theon turns into a tomato on the spot, Arya is grinning and Sansa ‘aws’. Hopefully he’ll wilt and disappear. Now would be great.

“Why?”, he whines, which turns Robb’s grin into a teasing smirk.

“Shouldn’t the first son be named after his father?”

“That’s it,” Theon grumbles. “I want a divorce. I’m divorcing you.” Then he points at a laughing Arya. “And you are disinherited,” he threatens.

****

Rickon gets to open his gifts first. After the paper massacre is done and over with he looks at Theon expectantly.

“You’ll get mine later,” he says and winks. “Everyone, except Ygritte, Mr. and Mrs. Stark, will get theirs later.”

Then Bran opens his and then Arya. Ygritte is next. It starts normal, a dress from Sansa, Wine from Ned and Catelyn, A giftcard from Robb (wrapped around the neck of a fox plushie, because Robb was a child posing as a grown up. Theon will never admit that he finds it endearing. Nope. Not happening), a knife from Arya, and drawings from Rickon and Bran. Then she grabs the last gift of her little gift pile. Theon had wrapped it in red paper and Sansa had helped him curl the the ends of the golden ribbon.

"Careful," Theon warns her. She delicately rips the paper, then gasps. Three bright, almost glowing, white feathers. Ashael's feathers. Feathers made of grace and pure power, the birth of a star. Blessings. She hugs him, almost crying but not yet there.

"Thank you," she says, then, to show she's still Ygritte, punches his arm. "You're getting soft." Theon very maturely sticks out his tongue. Jon, who was sitting beside her, changes position to face her, on his knees he pulls a little black box from his pocket. Everyone is dead silent.

“Ygritte Freivolk, I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, and every life that comes after. I know we’re young, but you’re the one for me, the only one. Will you marry me?”

Ygritte opens the box with shaking hands. The ring, a red stone framed by silver wings, glinting in the artificial light.

"Yes," she says and lets him put the ring on her finger. Then the kissing starts. Theon joins Arya in making gagging noises once they pass the five minute mark.

****

Ned and Catelyn open their gifts together, mostly because the others bought them joined gifts. Theon didn’t, but he put both gifts in the same box wrapped with green paper. Ned is the one to rip the paper and open the box, he pulls both items out in the open. The necklace almost falls from his hand, the two golden fishes glinting in the light of the lamp. There is a sapphire in the middle - real because Theon doesn’t do things halfway - engraved with the sigil for protection. Catelyn takes it from Ned and turns it in her hand, comes face to face with the fish that has Eddard engraved on it.

“It’s beautiful,” she says. “Thank you.” She smiles, the first real smile she had thrown his way. She turn to Ned. “Put it on me?”

The fishes and the stone hang just underneath her dress’ collar. Once the necklace is closed Ned lets her put his bracelet around his wrist. It’s made of black wooden beads, also engraved with protection sigils, and two silver wolf heads holding a ring between their teeth, the name Catelyn is engraved on the silver in curly letters.

“Thank you, son,” he says. Robb grins.

“Do you see this, Jon? We just lost our position as the favourites,” he says while Jon nods gravely.

“As if you’re the favourites,” Arya argues, which makes Bran look at her, brows raised.

“You’re definitely not,” he says.

“Children, we love you all equally,” Ned says, trying to nip the blooming argument in the butt.

“We love all our children equally,” Arya mocks, but they stop fighting.

Theon is the last one left, he doesn’t expect anything, he’s a guest, not part of the family. (A sentiment everyone else would not agree with.) He’s touched, and isn’t that new?, when he is presented with packages of all sizes and colours.

Theon is completely, absolutely unbiased, so he opens the one from Robb first. It’s a brown leather watch, silver face with little pearls and a starfish underneath the glass. He loves it. Robb takes in his awed face and pulls him into a kiss.

(It’s heartbreakingly obvious to Robb that Theon has never celebrated christmas before, he’s so easy to please and awed by the littlest things. He’s going to make sure Theon spends every christmas with them, showered with gifts, and nothing short of the apocalypse can stop him.)

Sansa’s gift to him is a knitted scarf, black and gold and soft like clouds, he has wings, he would know. Rickon and Bran drew him something (he can’t tell quite tell what it’s supposed to be, but that’s fine, it still makes him so fucking happy.)

Jon, because he’s a dick, wrapped his gift in thousands of layers. He smirks the whole time Theon unwraps it too, the fucker. It’s one of those little red hairbands with devil horns, again because he’s a dick. Theon is so delighted he immediately puts it on. He’s never gotten christmas gifts before, he loves every single one, even the stupid headband. (Jon also gifts him tons of chocolate that Theon is going to absolutely destroy. Maybe not all of it, he still has to make it up to Shireen that he couldn’t visit this year.)

Arya’s package is small, like Jon’s, Ygritte’s ring, and Theon can’t help but smirk at her.

“I’m honoured, I didn’t know you feel that way,” he says.

“Just open it, you prick.”

“Arya!”, Sansa and Catelyn bouth say reprimanding. Theon smiles, then opens the box. It’s a pair of earrings, not a matching pair. One a red stone and the other a dangling black snake. The symbolism is as subtle as an elephant is not.

“Earrings are for women,” he says and sticks his tongue out. (He still lets Robb but them on him without any fuss. They look hella hot on him.)

(Robb wholeheartedly agrees.)

Ygritte pushes a golden wrapped package in his lap and grins. It makes Theon wary, all his instincts warning him about the impending doom.

“This one is from me, Catelyn and Ned,” she says still grinning. Not good. He opens it wary. Maybe something is going to jump out and eat him. Or worse.

Worse does not begin to cover it. Rickon and Bran both look on, not an ounce of understanding in their eyes, Jon, Arya and Sansa laugh, or in Sansa’s case giggle, while Theon and Robb look like they are about to explode.

It’s a mountain of condoms and a pair of handcuffs. Pink leopard print ones. Robb fucking leers at him.

“I hate you,” Theon says.

“There’s more,” Ned says smiling.

“Please don’t.” Theon looks up pleading. Catelyn laughs.

“It’s nothing bad.” Then she hands him a silver key. “So you don’t have to climb in through the window, like Arya’s boyfriend she thinks we don’t know about.”

“Mom!”

He doesn’t know what to say. No one ever invited him freely into their life, not like the Starks did. (It’s so different from his quid pro quo deal with Yara, though they are long past that.)

“Present,” Rickon says, scrunches up his nose. “Please,” he adds. Theon grins, still feeling raw.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go get it,” he says. Getting up is harder than he thought after sitting in the same position for so long.

“Old man becoming unsteady in his ripe age?”, Jon teases.

“Shut up, you’re older than me.” Kind of. Their creation predates time.

In his and Robb’s room a large black package waits for him. It’s heavy and the moving content does not make it easier, he sighs when he can finally put it down in the middle of their little circle.

“This is for all of you,” he explains. “Go ahead Rickon.” The boy removes the lid and squeals. Happy and excited, high on sugar. He lifts the black puppy, a green bow around his neck, from the inside. Ned smiles as he spots the other wiggling pups in the box, Catelyn looks… Well. Theon has lost all the brownie points he won with the necklace. (It’s fine, the look on the children’s faces is enough to make up for it.)

Bran and Arya are the next to choose their pup, Bran takes the one with a golden bow and Arya the female with the purple one. Sansa takes the grey female with a pink bow, while Jon takes the white one. The last puppy jumps out of the box and curls up in Robb’s lap. Robb is smitten instantly. (Theon has serious competition now.)

Maybe buying dogs without the permission of the parents wasn't the best idea, he can admit that, he also doesn't care.

The other’s set up a movie, when Jon pulls him aside into the kitchen, white pup with red bow on his arm.

"Please tell me these are not what I think they are," he says almost pleading. Theon grins, confident and cocky.

"Hellhounds? You're absolutely right," he says. Jon looks ready to object, but the little pup licks his hand and yawns, he very wisely shuts up.

“Jon, stop making out with my boyfriend, the movie is ready,” Robb calls. Ygritte laughs.

“Maybe if we make out they come running?,” she says.

“Seems like my boyfriend stole your fiancé,” Theon says loud enough to be heard in the living room. Jon proceeds to make over the top sex noises, extremely fake moaning included.

“Theon, no sex in the kitchen!”, Robb shouts.

“Theon, no sex with my fiancé, period,” Ygritte adds.

Theon moans loudly just to spite them.

****

They are all seated on the sofa, Nightmare before Christmas playing on the TV. Each of the Stark children with their Hound in their lap. Ghost and Lady, by far the calmest, are sleeping, Shaggydog gently chews on Rickon's hand, Nymeria waggs her little tail as Arya pets her and Greywind watches his new master with undivided attention. Theon checks his phone.

'Do you have any idea what fucking time it is?' - Renly

'I took care of your order. They're all pretty calm, the black one might need a firm hand, but he's loyal to the core, the kid won't be the one getting bitten. That's five souls per Hound, the little female one comes free, wouldn't have been able to sell it anyway, too gentle.' - Loras

'What demon even buys Hellhounds for human children?' - Renly

'I apologize for Renly, you know how he deals with Shireen's birthday.' - Loras

Theon snorts. Renly dealt with everything remotely angel or family related by being grumpy and cuddling Loras (because Loras and Renly are, for a now demon and fallen angel, disgustingly domestic, they even breed dogs, sure these dogs are Hellhounds, but it is still toothrottingly sweet).

'Send the bill to Yara', he texts back. Yara had send him to earth, like an unruly dog made to sleep on the front porch, she could pay for the expenses.

****

Jon and Ygritte marry on her birthday, her human birthday, because her angel one was far before time or earth existed. Theon is put in an expensive suit, which he resents, and forced to sit in church listening to some old guy going on and on about God and the holiness of marriage, which he resents indefinitely more.

Ygritte wears a red dress, the kind that hugs her hips like lovers arms then poofs out like some majestic peacock. Golden flames are stitched on the fabric, travelling up her side from left to right. Cherry, ruby, apple, scarlet, garnet, fire, honey, merigold, amber coloured feathers adorning her head and arms, too beautiful to be plastic. Feathers of wings she no longer has.

The best parts are sitting beside Robb, legs pressed close, and Arya on his other side looking as enthusiastic as Theon. The worst part is Ygritte throwing her bouquet, orange lilies and red roses, fire and passion. Right at him. What a bitch. And he catches it too, idiot he is. Fuck reflexes. Arya burst into hysterical laughter, even Sansa giggles and Robb, the asshole, flutters his eyes at him. Theon is not amused. Jon winking at him does not make it better.

His revenge comes when they open the gifts. Theon gifts them with caramel apples and apple wine. Ygritte laughs, Jon is not less amused, though he simply rolls his eyes.

(He also gives them Hera, long and happy marriage.)

****

Theon and Jon are the only ones at home, the other's have, like normal mortals, work or school. The doorbell rings and Theon hurries down the hall from Robb's room to the door. He doesn't plan on opening it, locking it is more his plan. He can feel a powerful presence on the other side and it's not Yara or Daenerys. When he arrives, Jon has already opened the door and, because he's a goddamn traitor, let the man on the other side in. Theon freezes like prey. He would recognize any angel, but especially fucking Davos the Healer, third of the great angels. (Jon knows who the man, the angel is too, he also knows it will be fine.)

"Calm yourself," the angel says. "I'm not here to do anything drastic." Yeah. No. He's not buying it. Theon is not calm, in fact he's the exact opposite of calm. The angel knows it too going by his placid smile.

"I mean what i said," he says. "Stannis has decided, I'm here to inform you of your punishment." Which does absolutely fucking nothing to change Theon's emotional state. Stannis is not a merciful angel, person, whatever. It feels like a necklace of stones around his neck and deep, deep water in front of his feet. Nothing but a push between him and suffering. Azure, cyan, navy, sapphire, teal, indigo, mint, olive, seafoam coloured wing spread, feathers of ocean colours shining in the sun. Theon ducks his head.

"Theon, Lilit, First Demon, First Sinner, First Fall of Humanity, you are banished to earth for an indefinite time." Then the angel is gone. The first thing he thinks is, well that's not too bad, the second, indefinite is a fucking long ass time.

****

Robb acts weirdly all day, which isn't beneficial to Theon's state of mind when he was just told to stay on earth basically forever. He corners him in the kitchen, all important relationship discussions should happen in the kitchen, chocolate in one drawer and knives in the other. Perfect environment.

"What's wrong?", Theon asks, preparing himself for the worst. I'm breaking up with you. I hate you. Leave. I met someone. I don't want you. I can never love a demon.

“I will grow old and frail in no time by your standards,” Robb answers. Theon is going to faint any second he feel so relieved.

"That's what you've been worrying about? There's nothing easier to fix," he says.

"Really?" Robb sounds childishly innocent, full of tentative hope.

Theon takes the name he's been keeping save for so long and slips it over his own, glues the human name over the demon one like a band-aid, it doesn't quite fit, the way wrong puzzle pieces don't fit, but he forces it in place.

Eve takes the place of Theon, but the name is still there. A snake hidden unseen between pretty flowers. He's human for now, but once age and death some for him his soul will be demon once again. That's fine, Robb's soul is tainted now, he's laid with a demon. Stannis could never be cruel enough to keep lovers apart. (Shireen would never stand for it.) Theon will welcome Robb in Hell with open arms and lazy kisses.

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for you," he says. Robb grins, love struck and teasing, sweet and sour cherries.

"What, no bright light?", he says. Then, softer, more like strawberries:

"I love you too."

It’s all Theon could ever ask for and more.

"Robb?"

"Yeah?"

"We're not getting married in a church."

****

They get married in a church.

Theon has to keep a straight face for all of it.

This is his life now.

(He couldn’t be happier with it.)


End file.
